Before I Die aka Now is Good

Forty-four

The light is heart-breaking.

Dad sips tea by the bed. I want to tell him that he’s missing GMTV, but I’m not sure that he is. Not sure of the time.

He’s got a snack as well. Cream crackers with piccalilli sauce and old mature cheddar. I’d like to want that. To be interested in taste – the crumb and dry crackerness of things.

He puts down the plate when he sees me looking and picks up my hand. ‘Beautiful girl,’ he says.

I tell him thanks.

But my lips don’t move and he doesn’t seem to hear me.

Then I say, I was just thinking about that netball post you made me when I got into the school team. Do you remember how you got the measurements wrong and made it too high? I practised so hard with it that I always overshot at school and they chucked me out of the team again.

But he doesn’t seem to hear that either.

So then I go for it.

Dad, you played rounders with me, even though you hated it and wished I’d take up cricket. You learned how to keep a stamp collection because I wanted to know. For hours you sat in hospitals and never, not once, complained. You brushed my hair like a mother should. You gave up work for me, friends for me, four years of your life for me. You never moaned. Hardly ever. You let me have Adam. You let me have my list. I was outrageous. Wanting, wanting so much. And you never said, ‘That’s enough. Stop now.’

I’ve been wanting to say that for a while

Cal peers down at me. ‘Hello,’ he says. ‘How are you?’

I blink at him.

He sits in the chair and studies me. ‘Can’t you actually talk any more?’

I try and tell him that yes, of course I can. Is he stupid, or what?

He sighs, gets up and goes over to the window. He says, ‘Do you think I’m too young to have a girlfriend?’

I tell him yes.

‘Because loads of my friends have got one. They don’t actually go out. Not really. They just text each other.’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I’m never going to understand love.’

But I think he already does. Better than most people.

Zoey says, ‘Hey, Cal.’

He says, ‘Hey.’

She says, ‘I’ve come to say goodbye. I mean, I know I did already, but I thought I’d say it again.’

‘Why?’ he says. ‘Where are you going?’

I like the weight of Mum’s hand in mine.

She says, ‘If I could swap places with you, I would, you know.’

Then she says, ‘I just wish I could save you from this.’

Maybe she thinks I can’t hear her.

She says, ‘I could write a story for one of those true story magazines, about how hard it was to leave you. I don’t want you thinking it was easy.’

when I was twelve I looked Scotland up on a map and saw that beyond the Firth were the Islands of Orkney and I knew they’d have boats that would take her even further away than that

Instructions for Mum

Don’t give up on Cal. Don’t you ever slide away from him, move back to Scotland or think that any man is more important. I’ll haunt you if you do. I’ll move your furniture around, throw things at you and scare you stupid. Be kind to Dad. Serious. I’m watching you.

She gives me a sip of iced water. She gently places a cold flannel on my forehead.

Then she says, ‘I love you.’

Like three drops of blood falling onto snow.